Siege Conquest
by kasviel
Summary: Slash, yaoi, m/m. The first part of my rewrite of the Dark Reign into Siege events. As the success built on sand that Norman Osborn constructed crumbles, he becomes desperate to prove his power. But is dominating the Sentry the way to do it?


**Foreword**

This is a slash fiction based on two of my favorite Marvel events in the recent years, "Dark Reign" and "Siege". It takes place between the two, and is a sort of behind-the-scenes look at the backstabbing and agendas taking place between Norman Osborn and his Avengers. Of course, it focuses on the sexual tension specifically, and perhaps exaggerates it a touch.

The three-part story opens with the beginning of Norman Osborn's descent into madness. It takes place no more than a few weeks before the final, fateful Cabal meeting, after the Molecule Man episode. Osborn's fragile mentality is beginning to crack with the pressures of the world bearing down on him, as Loki schemes to finish the job. In the meantime, confused Robert Reynolds is losing his battle to control the Void, and the Void is beginning to get tired of being Osborn's secret weapon. All these elements push the two men into an unexpected power struggle. Their strange understanding of one another softens the battle, but losing even privately, intimately, is more than on-the-edge Osborn can handle.

With these stories, I intended to write some plausible fan service, and expand on character concepts from the canon that interested me. I wanted to show Osborn slowly coming off his hinges, oscillating between the pretended strength of his own ego, and the true strength the Green Goblin gives him. What I loved about Osborn from the canon, however, is that he is never really sympathetic; he is a bad man, through and through. Yet, it's great to walk that fine line where you almost find yourself slipping and feeling sorry for him, or at least understanding some of his motivations. The same could be said of Bullseye. Daken is a more unique case in that he stands to lose nothing from the events, and therefor is less pitiable. He _knows_ he will win in the end. And he does. In the Siege, he escaped more easily than any of the other characters, and currently is still free and doing as he pleases. He finds it amusing to watch as everyone tries to tear him down, it's part of why he does act so arrogant: to inspire those feelings in them, so they play right into his hands. I admit, he was a favorite character to write during this; he is so over-the-top and evil, it's just so indulgent. The Sentry is perhaps the only real victim of the whole Dark Reign/Siege mess: he is a guy that is tainted, that came from a bad place, but he still tries to do something right, something to justify it all . . . although that ends up being even worse than doing nothing, given the Void's influence. He is a major character in the first part, then recedes back into the background, hanging on the air like the threat he is. He is literally a living, breathing WMD. The sad thing is that Osborn could almost have been his friend, if he had not been using him so shamelessly. But none of the cast really has too many regrets, just perhaps a fleeting few towards the end. Their priorities always have been and always will be advancing their own agendas- nothing else.

This story is not my darkest, but it does slant pretty gritty nonetheless. Since it is based on comics, I went all out myself. The discipline starts out harmless, if harsh, but by the end it gets very violent. There is little love between the Dark Avengers as well, it's definitely more sex than romance. I tried to be more graphic with those scenes, too, to suit the frank nature of the stories and characters. Finally, the language is equally graphic: I tossed out the swear symbols. While I find censorship amusing and very comic book-like, I found it unnecessary here, since the subject matter is more mature in general anyway. Also, it makes the characters' dialogues more believable. These are not, you know, Spider-man and friends: they're rough people, they're villains, and they will say it the way they like.

For the atmosphere and character themes, since I love music, I used lyrics from Linkin Park's most current album, "A Thousand Suns". I chose the album because it tells a story, and really fits the Dark Reign into Siege run; it has the grit and edge of a comic book, while retaining an uplifting message beneath the tragedy. Also, because I simply fell in love with it after one listen, and the title reminds me of what they always said about the Sentry having the power "of a thousand exploding suns".

So, all said, here is my little fan serving tribute to a couple of really great runs. I hope you enjoy my slash take on the Dark Avengers. Thank you for reading.

* * *

To save face / how low can you go  
Talk a lot of game but yet you don't know  
Static on the way / make us all say whoa  
The people up top push the people down low  
Get down  
And obey every word  
Steady getting mine if you haven't yet heard  
Wanna take what I got / don't be absurd  
Don't fight the power / nobody gets hurt  
If you haven't heard yet then I'm letting you know  
There ain't shit we don't run when the guns unload  
And no one make a move unless my people say so  
Got everything outta control  
Now everybody go

Feel unload / final blow  
We the animals take control  
Hear us now / clear and true  
Wretches and kings we come for you

**"Wretches and Kings" - Linkin Park, "A Thousand Suns"  
**

Theme of the Dark Reign

* * *

01

**[ Avengers Tower ]**

Norman Osborn sat on the edge of his bed, staring out the seamless floor-to-ceiling windows at the twilit city of New York. The setting sun was blood red, its light crawling over the shadowy buildings, consuming the horizon like an insect . . .

Norman clenched a fist, his throat visibly working as he swallowed tightly. His eyes turned from the scene, brow furrowing. Why did the view disturb him? This was _his _city now, _his _domain. Where was that surge of pride and power that had thrilled him only a couple of months ago? Why could he not seem to grasp those early feelings of elation anymore? Why was it all slipping, slipping away . . .

Norman stood, untying his tie. He tossed it over a chair, and began unbuttoning his shirt as he approached the mirrored closet doors. The man undressed entirely, staring at his troubled reflection.

He was average height, just under six feet, solidly built average weight. He liked his face, it was a strong face, a face of character, he thought. His hair was auburn, coiled into an unfathomable style that was a hybrid of corn rows and a Brillo pad. His eyes were green-

No. No, they were blue. Blue . . . They looked almost brown in this lighting, but not green.

Not green.

Norman drew a breath, setting his features in a sternly self-assured look. Strong, he thought as he stared at his reflection. His face, his body, but most of all, his mind.

_I am strong._

_**I **am strong._

The face shifted, warped . . . Green in red . . .

"Gah!"

Norman stumbled back from the mirrors, shielding his face with an arm. He lowered his arm slowly, and was again alone with his reflection. He looked all around the room, as if suspecting the _other _reflection had walked off the glass and into the bedroom.

Collecting himself, Norman defiantly faced the mirrors again. He refused to see the fear reflected in his eyes, the undercurrent of self-doubt and uncertainty. He blocked out the glimmer of that other thing that was so much more than an emotion, that _state of mind_.

For a moment, the reflection blurred, wavered. Norman rubbed his eyes. Looking up again, the doubt clouded his mind, possessing him entirely for a moment. No matter the remnants of power in his veins from the serum, no matter his physique or his political status, no matter his intelligence, his desperate need for control- Still, he felt raw and insignificant, alone. Yes, that was it! It was more than physical power, more than heightened ability: the Green Goblin was company, another self, a _better _self, and-

_No. **No**. Stop. Don't. Don't go there, don't go **back **there. Don't let yourself go. Don't let go._

"I am stronger than that," Norman told himself. His exhaled wearily, shutting his eyes and pounding his fists lightly against the mirror. "I am strong. I am."

A voice whispered back to him, scratchy and higher in pitch, _"__**We **__are. We are strong."_

Norman cried out again, staggering back from the mirror. The reflection no longer wavered. It was clearly, tangibly:

_**The Green Goblin!**_

"No," Norman gasped. He shook his head in bewilderment. "No . . . I . . . "

"Yes, you. Oh, yes, you _are_," the Goblin told him. He cackled a terrible laugh. "_Heeheehee_. I thought you would be glad to see me."

Norman ran his hands over his head, hair. "No. _No_."

"Look at how far we've come," the Goblin went on. "Look at all we've accomplished!"

"_**I **_have accomplished!" Osborn snapped fiercely at him. "Me! Alone! Everything! This, all of this, I built it without you! _In spite of_ you!"

"_Because of _me!" the Goblin shot back. "What are you- What the_ hell _are you without me?"

"I'm the man that ended the Invasion!" Norman shouted at his other persona. "I am the solution to the failures of the past! I own the Avengers, and H.A.M.M.E.R! Oscorp! I'm Norman Osborn!" He pointed at the Goblin. "I am Norman fucking Osborn!"

"And who is Norman Osborn?" scoffed the Goblin. "Who, but a failure in a line of failures?"

Norman felt his body shudder, and he turned away.

"After all, what really separates you from your father- or your son, for that matter?" the Goblin pointed out. "_**I **_do, and you know it. You've _always _known it."

"I know that you're nothing!" scowled Norman. "A delusion, a _disease_! You're nothing! Nothing! Nothing . . . "

"I am you, Norman," the Goblin insisted. "The best of you."

"No. No! Get out!" Norman yelled, storming across the room. He ran his hands over his head, rubbing his forehead before facing the mirrors again. He had hoped the Goblin's twisted image would be gone, and his own reflection would have returned, but the demonic other remained in his place. "Get out . . . of here," the man said softly, screwing his eyes shut. "No. You're _not_ here."

"You're right, Norman. I'm not. I never have been."

Norman looked at the mirrors, and the Goblin was gone. Norman lifted his face defiantly. "No. No. You're **not**."

However, the voice persisted, a scratchy whisper grating against the walls of Norman's mind, _"This is where I am, Norman. This is where-"_

Norman's eyes widened in horror. He stared at his shocked reflection in the mirror, helpless, alone and yet not alone. His eyes were green.

"_-I will always-"_

"No . . . "

"_-always-"_

"No!"

"_-be."_

"NOOOOOO!"

Norman's scream erupted through the static silence of his empty bedroom. He rushed backwards, stumbling, almost falling to the floor. At his bedside, he picked up the chic little digital clock projector on his nightstand, and hurled it at the mirrors. A silvery rain of reflective glass showered down into the expensive carpeting.

Glass breaking. How many times had he heard that sound? There was a destructive finality to it that he found oddly soothing.

Norman stood staring at the scattered glass fragments, breathing heavily despite the little physical exertion. He was so preoccupied that he did not hear the door open, the footfalls across the room. Behind his shoulder, a handsome young man saw the broken mirrors, and his face took on a startled, confused expression.

"Mr. Osborn?"

Osborn whipped around with a start. "Ahh!- Oh. Oh, Bob."

Robert Reynolds, the golden-haired Sentry, stared at his boss with wide, troubled blue eyes. It took him a moment to figure out exactly what to say, and he said it with heavy uncertainty, "Are . . . you . . . Um, are you okay? Sir?"

"Of course I'm-" Norman forced the impatience from his voice, as he himself was uncertain. His eyes traveled the broken glass and clock, and he frowned in dismay. "-okay." He looked away, to Bob, with a restrained expression. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, I-I heard screaming, and-" Bob mulled over his words and thoughts, as he so often did. Violence of any kind, whether his own or not, seemed to greatly confuse him; it was a habit that Norman found confounding and irritating. "Because it's okay if you're not."

"Not what?" a distracted and weary Osborn asked, stepping around the glass.

"Not okay."

"It's okay if I'm not okay?"

"Yeah. Okay?"

Norman rubbed the center of his forehead, feeling a headache building. "I'm fine, Bob." He sat down on the edge of the bed, smiled weakly up at the man. "Really."

"Oh. Okay."

However, Norman saw the remaining uncertainty in Bob's light, vacant eyes, and it galled him. _Damn it. Damn it! They aren't supposed to see you- see __**me**__. Not like this. Not like . . . _

Bob knelt down in front of the bed, bringing their faces more level. Norman suddenly remembered his own nakedness, and he felt, for the first time since taking charge of Avengers Tower, vulnerable.

_It was a delusion to keep from feeling vulnerable around this one, however, _Norman realized. _This man, no matter how childlike his eyes, his face . . . This man could kill me without thinking twice. He always could. That he hasn't thus far is some kind of miracle . . . _

_Or . . . is it something else?_

Norman searched Bob's eyes, finding no answers in those glossy orbs. So many questions he had been too callous to even think of before came swirling into his mind. For just a moment, he thought he saw a glimmer of awareness in Bob's eyes, and the young man spoke before Norman had a chance. Deliberate? Norman wondered if Bob really was as naïve as he seemed.

"I know what they _say _about you," he said quietly. "And I know what you told me . . . that time. Remember, when you-"

"I remember, Bob," Norman cut him off shortly. His mind touched back upon that day- Had it been day, evening, night? It seemed so long ago already that he couldn't remember. All he could recall was that dark, dark room, with the woman sleeping on the bed in absolute, terrified silence, and Robert there, crying, sitting on the floor like a child . . . so alone, so seemingly innocent in the midst of all those shadows . . .

"You helped me then," Bob said, abruptly yanking Norman away from his mental wanderings back in time. "I could- If you need me to, that is, I—I could help you. Now."

Norman stared at him. _This poor idiot. He really means it._

"I'm fine," Norman repeated, not knowing what else to say. Despite his cynicism, something about the offer almost, _almost _touched him.

Robert put a hand on the man's knee, and Norman flinched.

"Are you- Are you afraid of me?" Bob asked, sounding distressed. He stood. "You're afraid of me!"

"No, _no_!" Norman exclaimed, holding his hands up in defense. "I'm not afraid of you, Robert. I just- I'm having a weird day, and-and I'm here, like this, naked . . . "

Bob eyed him, not completely convinced. Norman stood up, though Bob still towered over him by a couple inches and a ton of presence. Norman's eyes wandered the enigmatic man, and he wondered what kind of world it was that this simpleton was endowed with so much, completely by accident.

Then again, Norman's own Goblin Serum had not exactly been methodically plotted out, either. _At least I deserved the power, _he thought to reassure himself. _I was a successful man, already in charge of Oscorp, already rich, already brilliant. Yes, I deserved- deserved-_

Norman glimpsed his reflection in the windows briefly, and he saw the edges waver. He turned from it, rubbing the back of his neck. Bob put a hand on his shoulder, and Norman suppressed a cringe.

_All that power, and that 'other' self of his! I have enough to deal with, with my own . . . issues . . . _

Norman looked up at the window, and saw the Goblin reflected. He clenched a fist, and turned his face away. Bob's hand tightened on his shoulder, and he lowered his head to meet Osborn's face.

"You're shaking."

"I'm not."

Robert put his hand on the side of Norman's face, and Norman felt his blood run cold . . . then very, very hot. He felt a surge of irritation and confusion, both physically and emotionally. His eyes met the other man's, and his feelings focused into a single, recognizable one: desire.

_Oh, no, _Norman thought, groaning mentally. _You are kidding me. You're kidding me, libido, right?_

Robert seemed to pick up on the spark between them, and his forehead crinkled in bafflement. Norman's eyes fell on the other man's lips, only a breath away. Even his lips were perfect, smooth and sculpted; he was so damned beautiful.

_And I want him. And so what? I can have him. Hell, I can have any Avenger I want. So, he's a guy, so what? I've screwed less beautiful women, heh heh. _

Norman leaned forward, and their lips met. He felt Robert make a small sound of protest, felt his brow furrow against his own forehead, but he reached a hand into that silky blond hair and held him in place. _He wants it, too. He has to. Let's face it, he could push me clear across the room if he really wanted to get away._

"Mm—Mr.-Mmm-Mr. Osborn!" Bob gasped, pulling away. "I-I-I'm ma-married, and, I, I-"

"Shh. Bob, Bob, Bob," Norman hushed him before he got agitated. "It's all right. Look. _Look_ at me. It's okay."

"But-"

"It's okay," Norman repeated firmly. "Listen to me. Listen. It's only cheating if it's with another woman, Robert."

The spacey superhero looked at him with that annoyingly slow, troubled look. Norman held his temper, though he wanted to scream at him, _'WHY THE FUCK DO __**YOU**__ CARE ABOUT RIGHT AND WRONG?'_

"Really?"

_His entire existence is wrong! Doesn't he get that?_

"Yes, Bob," Norman said with forced patience. His hands wandered the man's shoulders and upper arms liberally now, the lust crackling through his fingertips. The more he thought about it, the more he decided he **wanted **the man. "Yes. Look at me."

Norman took the man's face in his hands, savoring the feel of that skin: the molecular structure inhumanly dense, so as to make the smooth skin feel like marble made fluid and sinewy. His skin was warm, his face flushed over and giving him almost an effeminate beauty despite the strength in his structure.

"It doesn't count with another man," Norman told him. "Really. It doesn't."

"Well, I guess . . . that makes sense."

Norman stared at him. _It does? I was really going out on a limb with that one-_

"Yeah." Bob smiled cutely, nodding. "Yeah, it does."

_-but if you say so, my beautiful idiot._

Norman moved closer, and leaned into another kiss. He let his hands wander the man's robust body, pressed himself into his physique. He felt otherworldly, rippling with power that went beyond mere physical prowess, even beyond the normal physical enhancement (such as mutation or even the Goblin Serum itself). This was something else, something enigmatic and forbidden. Norman could almost taste the power, feel the exuding darkness on his skin, and the sensation aroused him almost to the point of orgasm by itself.

Robert was a bit uncertain, ridiculously shy, but he followed Norman's lead. His hands clasped on the man's hips, and his tongue tasted his mouth, then his skin. The sexual energy shot through his system, heating his body- He felt like he was burning up. It was almost like being in battle, fighting, fighting . . .

Norman was so involved with pulling the man's clothing off that he did not notice the spark in Bob's eyes, how they were illuminating with that unnatural glow . . .

02

**[ Asgard ]**

The Trickster God of the mythical kingdom of Asgard sat back before a large mirror, watching the scene with narrowed, cold blue eyes. His shrewd face was pensive, and vaguely amused.

"Well, and _this _is an unexpected development," he murmured to himself, sipping from his large wine glass. "Hmm. He sees that one as a weapon, as _his _strongest weapon. How typical of the weak to manipulate the strong. I myself have claimed the powers of others this way- Not that I_need_ to, the way this pathetic mortal Osborn does."

Loki stood, pacing without once removing his eyes from the quickly-turning-pornographic scene.

"What an ego boost for fragile Norman Osborn, to sexually dominate the god-like Sentry!" Loki muttered distastefully. "No, no, that shall never do. I need _Mr. _Osborn shattered, broken! I need him malleable if he is to serve my purposes."

Loki looked at the Sentry's eyes in the mirror, saw the glimpse of the man's _other self_ in them. A smile spread over his face.

"Fortunately, the foolish mortal plays with fire of his own accord," Loki observed. He ran a hand over his face, and it was suddenly the mask of the Green Goblin. "I shall strike the match, and his precious Sentry shall be the one to set its blaze to the man. After this, there will be even less left of Norman Osborn to fight my plans. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!"

**[ Avenger's Tower ]**

Norman held Robert against the windows, wrapping his mouth around the man's neck. He had stripped him out of his uniform, revealing his entire, magnificent body. Norman was surprised that he could be turned on so much by a man, but then decided that only an impotent person, of either gender, could look at that perfection and _not _feel something. The best part of it was that all of this man, all of the Sentry, belonged to Norman. Robert was _his _Avenger, _his _lover, _his _man.

_And it feels so good, _Osborn thought as he guided Robert around, _to take __**full **__advantage of-of-_

His thoughts were interrupted upon seeing his reflection in the glass. It was the Goblin, suddenly, inexplicably. Norman stumbled back, tripped and fell on his ass. He felt everything drain out of him, and was left numb, cold.

"W-wha-what's the matter?" Bob asked, glancing back over his shoulder in surprise. "Mr-Mr. Osborn?"

"_Don't stop on account of me," _the Goblin said. _"Really, Norman, do you think there's __**ever **__been a time that I wasn't there? It's __**all **__me, you know that. Look at you without me: lost and impotent."_

Robert walked over, clumsily, and knelt at Norman's side. Osborn's eyes were wide, staring at the window. He said nothing, didn't even notice Bob.

"Mr. Osborn?"

"_Whose baby do you really believe Lilly carries?" _the Goblin pointed out. _"You yourself christened him mine, didn't you? Your 'Goblin Prince'?"_

"No," Norman protested, though it was a small, uncharacteristically weak sound from him. He drew his knees up to his chest, clutching at them. "No. Don't- Please, don't-"

Robert looked at the windows, saw nothing there. He finally realized what was going on, and gave Norman a pitying look. "Oh, Mr. Osborn . . . "

"No!" Norman clutched his head in his hands. "No, no! It's not what you- Oh, oh G- Go! Go away, just leave me. Leave me alone, I-I have to be alone."

Robert put a hand on Norman's back, caressing him.

"I said, go away!" Norman yelled, pushing at Robert (who did not budge). "Leave me the hell alone!"

Norman stood and stormed away from him. Bob bowed his head, quiet. Norman walked up to the windows, stared at the reflection of the Green Goblin. _Why? Why, why, why?_

Robert got to his feet after a few minutes. "Oh, but you _won't _be alone, will you, Norman?"

The voice chilled Osborn through to his black, twisted soul. His spine stiffened, and he dared not turn around. _Not him, _he thought as fear shot through him. _Please, not him, not now._

The Sentry came up behind Norman, sliding an arm around his waist. Norman flinched, and had to fight not to shudder. The motions were more confident, all traces of Bob's awkwardness gone. His skin was no longer humanly hot, but radiated a heat that was more like frost burn than a fire's warmth. His breathing was steady and low in his ear as he whispered, "You're like Reynolds, you know what it's like to never be alone."

Norman felt his eyes water, and he remained petrified, staring out the window. He couldn't bring himself to look into that face, so devoid of human emotion. Robert's closeness was a threat now, not a comfort. His nakedness made him feel vulnerable again, like an animal caught in the jaws of its predator. The fear was so strong that he couldn't even muster up the nerve to be angry at it.

"_That is what you are, Norman," _the Goblin in the glass told him, _"an animal. Just a human man, flesh and bone, and without my cunning, without my brilliance, you are lost. Do you enjoy feeling powerless, Norman?"_

Norman swallowed. "No," he whispered. "No."

"Yes, oh yes," Robert murmured in his ear. He pressed his lips to the man's neck, smiled at the resultant shudder. "You admitted it yourself, practically _gloated _about it. That was how you seduced poor, pathetic Reynolds into your fold. You told him no one _understands _him the way you do. And it is true, isn't it, _Mr. Osborn_? As much as you want to fight it, you know it's true. Hell, you secretly relish the truth, I can tell. I can smell the sweetness of defeat on you."

"_Then why do you deny me?" _the Goblin asked sadly.

"I don't." Norman squirmed in Robert's embrace. "Mmph. No. No, this isn't-"

"Isn't what?" Robert asked lightly. "Isn't what you want? Don't be a liar. This is _exactly _what you want."

Robert turned Osborn around to face him. Norman tried to get away from him, but Robert held his wrists against the glass. Norman was forced to finally face those eyes, glimmering with inhuman light, devoid of all traces of Robert Reynolds.

"Void . . . I thought-"

"You thought I only answer your beck and call?" the Void asked. He chuckled. "Foolish little human . . . "

He stroked his head, fingers musingly plucking at Norman's oddball hair. Norman bristled, hitting his hand away.

"We had a deal!" Norman snapped, some of his confidence returning. "I may need you, but you also need me. Without me, there is no Serum, is there? I could get rid of you!"

"All I need are your scientists, and if I looked _hard _enough, I do not doubt I could find them," Robert the Void pointed out. He lifted a hand, and energy swirled around his palm, golden-red like pure sun fire. "Do you really think they would refuse _me_?"

Normal paled. "Please, I-I didn't- Robert. Let me have Robert back."

Those dead, empty eyes stared coldly at him.

"Please!" Norman cried.

"Oh, but you don't want him," the Void said. He harshly turned Norman around, holding him by an arm twisted behind his back. "Why would you seek comfort in one as weak and pathetic as yourself?"

His face pressed against the glass, Norman was profile-to-profile with the watching reflection of the Green Goblin. "I'm . . . not . . . "

"You are, you are everything they say you are!" Robert hissed harshly. "Why fight it, Norman? You know _I _never believed any of your act. You know you could never fool _me_. Why not simply give in, hmm? Let me give you everything you want."

"_If you want me to abandon you, I'll go," _the Goblin said. _"You can spend the rest of your life exactly like this."_

Norman felt his mind slipping into anguish, and he didn't know which of the two demons he was even talking to anymore. "No!"

"_Weak. Human. __**Alone**__."_

"NO! Oh God! No!" Norman broke down sobbing. He thumped his forehead against the window, screwing his eyes shut. "Oh God. Oh God. No, _no_."

The Sentry released his arm, taking a step back to watch him curiously. A sadistic smile twisted his lips. Invisible to him, Loki smiled the same cruel smile through his Green Goblin guise. _This could not have worked any better, _he thought in satisfaction. _What a fortunate turn of events! _

Sobbing loud, weary sobs, Norman rushed into the Sentry's arms. "Oh God, it's true. It's all . . . true. I am the-the-" He gasped, burying his face in the man's chest. "Help me."

The Sentry pulled his head back by his hair, and gave him a deep, voracious kiss. It was a brutal gesture, more taunting than anything, but Norman threw himself into it. In all honesty, he was _tired_. He was sick and tired of the power, the energy it took to control the uncontrollable. He knew it was worth it and he knew it was everything he had ever wanted, but damn it, he was just _tired _of it.

"_Of course you are," _the Goblin said smoothly. _"You're only human, Norman. You don't have the stamina for it. I'm surprised you've sustained this long, but now it's over. It is over. You see that, don't you?"_

Robert threw Norman across the floor, and climbed over him. Despite his size, he had a feline smoothness to his movements, preternatural speed. His golden hair was a curtain over those shadowy, dark eyes.

"You cling to your delusions of dominance, as you used to cling to that other persona of yours, but none of that can save you, Norman. You've gone past the point of no return. You are in over your head, and you know it," Robert said, slamming Norman down by the wrists beneath him. "After all, what are you really? A god, like the Asgardians? A hero, like Tony Stark? No! You are a tantrum-throwing _child_ railing against your legacy: a legacy of failure. _'I'm Norman Osborn,'_ you say, _'I'm Norman Osborn!'_ Do you know what we, all us Avengers, all the _world_, really want to do when we hear that?"

Norman stared at him, his eyes still running with tears. He knew. Oh, he comforted himself with the faith of the little people, the trust of the sheep, certainly. However, he knew that to anyone that was anyone, he remained-

"We want to _laugh_ at what a joke you are," Robert said. An evil grin lit his beautiful face, twisting it without marring its perfection somehow. All the presence and power that Bob could never make use of, the Void forged into a pure, omnipotent facade. He was like a vengeful god, intent on utter destruction, whether of a world or a single person. "All those disgusting thugs, Bullseye and Venom and the whore Moonstone, the dirty mongrel Daken, all the losers you yourself dressed up to be heroes- they _all _laugh at you! The world watches with bated breath, waiting for you to fail. There are bets, did you know that?"

Robert leaned over Osborn, the ends of his hair grazing Norman's stricken face.

"They _bet _on when you'll lose your sanity again," Robert told him. "After Colorado, the odds have been stacked pretty high against you."

Norman shook his head in dismay. "Why are you doing this to me? I-I'll- I can-"

"You can what? Nothing!" Robert struck him across the face, causing him to cry out. "Why am I doing this? Because _I _can. You may own Reynolds, but you do not own me. Never forget that."

"Ahh! Mmmm." Norman clutched his face. He had been knocked aside onto his stomach, and had to prop himself up on his elbows. The windows were out of sight now, and he felt alone without the Goblin there. He knew the Goblin would not have let this happen. The Goblin needed no one and nothing. His power over people was natural, his dominance assured. He was not human, he was the part of Norman that was beyond human. It was idiotic to think he could deal with all these beings without his superhuman half. _I never should have denied you, _he thought, rubbing his cheek so hard it only aggravated the sting. _This is not my face. I should never have taken the mask off. Never should have. Never should have. Never should have._

Robert was over him again, kissing his burning cheek. "No witty retorts?" he murmured into the man's ear. "Hmm? No threats, no outrage? No pride? No, just a man, a man at the mercy of his own fragile mind. Poor Norman Osborn. Poor, broken man. Isn't that the sympathy you've wanted all along?" He ran a hand down Osborn's cheek to follow a tear. "Mmm. Isn't this-" He licked the tear from his finger. "-what you've been wanting?"

"Yes, yes, it is," Norman said in bitter resign. "So why don't you shut up and give it to me?"

Robert laughed, sounding slightly surprised. "Ha ha! So, there is some backbone in you that is real, is there?" He jerked the man to his feet and dragged him by the arm towards the bed. "Let's see if I can't humble you a little more."

"No, please, I- Stop. Let me go!" Norman protested, struggling futilely against the man's iron grip. "What are you doing?"

"Decimating your ego," replied the Void. "Ha! It will be most appealing to see you utterly shamed before me. I may serve you for the moment, but I am not your servant. I should have reminded you of that sooner. It isn't easy to gain control with these intentions, however. Bob does care so much about you. I think he might _love _you."

Robert sat back in the bed, against the headboard. He then pulled Norman, still struggling, so that he lay on his stomach across his lap. Jilted by his helplessness in this ludicrous position, Norman was silent.

Robert smirked down at the man, smoothing a hand over his flank mockingly. He could effectively kill him with no more effort than a human used to flick away an ant, physically harm him in a million ways, and they both knew it.

Norman knew why the man-or whatever this presence was-chose such a mild, sexual method of hurting him, and it infuriated him. For all his speeches and declarations, all his posturing, his command: here he was, not even a hint of a threat to his own weapon, insignificant enough to be toyed with like a pet. He saw a blur of motion behind his shoulder as Robert snapped back his hand and cracked it across his bottom. It was a highly restrained blow, hardly a tap from the Sentry, but nonetheless it brought a burst of searing, stinging pain. Norman gasped, despite himself, shocked by the sharpness of it.

"Did you really think I would only use this human's strength?" snickered Robert. His hand had a faint glow to it as he raised his palm. "You are worthy of a little more than that, Goblin."

"Not-not the-"

Robert glanced at his face, continuing to strike him in rapid succession. "Hm?"

"Not the Goblin. I'm Os-mmph-Osborn. Norman-Norman Osborn, and-and-"

Robert grinned. "Go on, say it. You know you'll never keep all that wounded pride bottled up. You don't have the character."

"I'm Norman Osborn, and-" Norman clenches his fists, gripping the bedsheets tightly in them. "And how _dare _you disrespect me like this!"

Robert laughed coldly, shaking his head.

"After all I've done for you, for the others, for-for this entire goddamned country!" Norman screamed shakily, crying beneath his fury. "How dare you! You're nothing without me! You're-you're all nothing! _**I **_made you all! _**I **_gave you everything! You would still be trapped inside that moron simpering away in that room if it weren't for me! How can you disrespect me like this? HOW? I'M NORMAN OSBORN!"

Robert burst into a loud, booming laughter. "That is a lot of pride coming from the mentally shattered little man I'm spanking like a child."

Norman bowed his head, the words bringing the reality of the matter back to him. "Ngh."

"It hurts, doesn't it?"

Osborn swallowed, and without his outraged fury to bolster him, felt himself sinking. He opened his mouth to speak, but only a sad, incoherent squeak escaped his lips. "I-I—I-" he stammered fruitlessly. "I'm N-Norman . . . Os . . . b-b-"

He broke down, sobbing into his hands pathetically. He screamed wordlessly in helpless fury, made a weak attempt to break away, and then just collapsed bawling again.

The pain was now overriding everything else. Robert's hand beat him relentlessly, as hard and hot as fired metal. The deeply scarlet handprints had melded into one another, and became a large outline of bruises. It actually became more intolerable than the humiliation. Norman twisted and howled in pain, finally begging the man to stop. He made offers, promises, but not a single threat. Robert chuckled softly at all his words.

"What could you offer me that I would enjoy more than this, Osborn?"

Norman buried a strangled cry in the bedsheets. How had he ended up here? Was this him, pounding and kicking like a punished brat? Was that his voice hollering so shrilly, so desperately? He had . . . He had decided to sleep with Bob, to claim him fully, and it had all spiraled out of control after that. It went out of his . . . control . . .

Norman's thoughts were lost in a blur of pain and humiliation. He cried softly into the bed, shoulders shaking violently. He could feel the Sentry's palm slapping into his beaten-soft flesh, heard the cracking _whams_ of impact. His throat was hoarse from yelling, his sullen face streaked with tears and mucus. How did he end up like this? He didn't deserve this . . .

A sudden, shocked sound from the Sentry caused him to lift his head. His ass was so sore that it took him several moments to realize the spanking had ceased, the bruises still ringing as if he were being struck. He looked back over his shoulder hopefully.

Robert's eyes were blue, just for a moment. Then, they were blank again. He shook his head. "Mmm. No. No, you're not going to defend him, are you?" he asked incredulously.

"Stop hurting him!" Bob's voice exclaimed, and his eyes were normal again momentarily. "Stop!"

Norman ran an arm over his nose, sniffling as he watched the man argue with himself. Even he thought it was somewhat incredible (and stupid, on Bob's part) for Reynolds to be defending him. _To be saved by that naïve, stupid boy, _he thought miserably.

Robert shook his head, and gave the man another spank. Norman flinched, realizing that he would be immensely grateful to the naïve, stupid boy if he ended this.

"No!" Bob argued. "No, please, that's enough. That's- That's **enough**."

"Ohhh, you fooool," groaned the Void, his voice waning. He clutched his head, blond hair covering his face completely, and fell silent.

Norman shifted, wondering if Reynolds was back in control but too scared to say anything. He began to crawl off the man's lap, every muscle from his upper bottom to his thighs aching as he did. He was nearly off when a hand shot out and grabbed his arm. "Aaaagghh!"

"No, no! It's-it's me!" Bob turned Osborn to face him. His vacant, vibrant blue eyes were normal again, along with that worried, gentle expression. "Mr. Osborn, it's me."

Norman stared at him, drawing his knees up to his chest, and felt a distinct sense of irony. He had been the one kneeling beside Bob just months ago, comforting his tears away, and now their roles were irrevocably reversed. A thin thread of defiance protested, and Norman pulled away from Bob's outstretched arm. "No, don't-don't touch me."

Bob moved closer to him, regardless. "He hurt you. I can't believe he hurt you so much. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

Norman was holding his head in his hands, rocking slightly. "Bob, don't. Please, don't do this."

The man took Norman in his arms, a comforting embrace. Norman was rigid at first, but as he felt Robert caressing him, kissing him, he began to break. At last, he relinquished all pretenses, and threw his arms around him, just grateful to have _his _Sentry back.

"He hurt me," Norman mumbled, his mind still dazed from it all. "He hurt me so much."

"I know. I know, I'm-I'm sorry," Bob apologized sincerely. He drew Osborn fully into his arms, cradling him. He tried to rub the sting away, but the moment his hand touched the bruises, Norman yelped. "Sorry. I'm sorry. Oh God, I-I'm so sorry. I wanted to stop. I did!"

Bob took Norman's face in both hands, looking into his eyes earnestly.

"I really didn't want to-to do that," Bob said. "But then, then _he _came, and I thought maybe . . . I thought you might enjoy him more than me. I know you love strong people, so I-I let him . . . I let him."

Bob wiped his own eyes, which were teary as well. "It's my fault. It's all my fault. I'm so sorry, Mr. Osborn. I-I can go, if you-"

"No!" Norman exclaimed. "No. Bob, you can't-" He cleared his throat, trying to gather his senses again. "I need you, Robert," he said softly. The words took on an entirely different meaning now: they were no longer a placating lie, but an honest, heartfelt plea. His cheeks burned with the indignity of it. "I need you."

"But how can you even stand to _look _at me after-"

Norman exhaled wearily, leaning his head against the man's chest. "You are my . . . Golden Avenger, remember?" He rubbed his head, trying to stop his thoughts from racing madly. "But it's more than that. I . . . I like you." Norman turned his face to look up at Robert. "I care about you, and I . . . I don't _want _you to go."

"Even after-"

"That wasn't your fault, Bob," Norman told him. "It wasn't your fault, and I . . . Hell, I may have even . . . deserved it."

Bob looked shocked. _Not as shocked as I feel, _Norman thought bitterly.

"I've been . . . I know I told you there was no Void, but I may have . . . I was only trying to help you, Bob, and I never meant . . . What I'm trying to say is-"

"You lied, I know," Bob said softly. "You're using me."

Norman's eyes were wide as he watched the man. Though he predominantly sounded hurt, there was a cold undertone in Robert's voice that made him wince.

"Not for _bad_, Robert," Norman said carefully. He felt like a child trying to explain himself to a stern elder. A strange sense of premonition told him this was only a taste of the downfall ahead, but he forced such morbid doubts away promptly. "We've done good. You've seen- You _know _all the things we've accomplished."

"I know, and I don't distrust you."

Robert lay Osborn down, knelt over him. Norman tentatively kissed him, and was relieved when Bob kissed him back as tenderly as before. He ran his hands through the man's lank hair, down his strong shoulders and arms, across his chest. They had gone in quite a detour, but now it was over, he told himself. They were back where the evening had begun.

"But," Bob said, barely more than whispering into Norman's ear, "you were probably right. You probably _did _deserve that spanking."

Norman's face flushed, but he said nothing. Bob kissed his neck, chest, and he remained staring at the ceiling. To hear such words coming from an entity such as the Void was one thing, but hearing them from the simpleton Reynolds was quite another. The worst part of it was that he could not argue his own point. It was the truth, and now even Bob was aware of it.

"You're sulking," Bob observed, pushing his hair back off his face. He chuckled, and was so reminiscent of the Void that Norman wondered if the thin line dividing them was fading. He had little time to ponder, as Bob drew him into a scorching kiss, and his thoughts wafted away into physical pleasure.

Robert was the one that made love to Norman, and despite himself, Osborn was merely relieved. It felt good to let another take charge finally, even if it was degrading. Physically, a twisted part of him relished the flood of emotion the beating had uncorked, and even the lingering pain was oddly gratifying. _So, this is what it feels like on the losing side of a power play. I was starting to forget._

He was swept up against the man, eased onto him, and he found himself crying out from ecstatic pain. His hands dug into Robert's skin, not even denting it, and he clung to the man as he had never clung to anyone in his entire life. The sense of _need _was overwhelming, frightening even.

_Not as frightening as the fact that I **allow **myself to need him. I did this. I put myself here, in this disgraceful situation. I can't . . . I can't handle it alone. I'm in so far over my head._

Norman glanced at the window over Robert's shoulder. He saw the Goblin standing there, watching. _I needed __**you**__, _Norman thought at him. _I need you. I . . . I'll never deny you again. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry._

Norman was thrown onto his back on the bed, and Robert kissed him warmly. He entered him again, and Norman cried out. Robert pinned his arms above his head by the wrists, held him firmly in place as he tore into him harder. There was a look of satisfied enjoyment lingering on the man's lovely features, a hint of sadism in his eyes.

Though he enjoyed it, Norman knew by now the reason for his loss. He was being punished. The Goblin had been right: after all he had done for him through the years, all he tried to save him from now, Norman had still refused him. It was a painful lesson, but he had learned it now.

_Yes, I have learned, _Norman thought, thoroughly chagrined. _And even as I allow myself to actually take pleasure in this man, I know I won't ever make the same mistake twice. I have the Sentry as my master because of my mistakes, so be it, but no one else will __**ever **__humiliate me like this again. I won't be used. Norman Osborn is the used . . . I know that now._

_The Goblin. He is the user. He is my strength._

_I won't ever relinquish control to anyone but him, ever again._

_Do you hear that?_

_I won't ever deny you again._

**[ Asgard ]**

Loki watched the two tumbling, twisting bodies in their sticky, sweaty writhing with widened eyes. His hands clutched the arms of his large, plush chair so tightly his knuckles were white. Though his mouth was closed, he was drawing very deep breaths through his nose, deep enough to cause his chest to heave.

_I should have turned away half an hour ago, _he thought knowingly, though he could not bear to tear his eyes from the scene. His tongue ran over his lips, and he shakily lifted his wine glass to them. It was empty. Without turning his gaze from the mirror, he refilled it, and took a long swallow.

His mind was further startled by the realization that without his Sentry uniform and with all that blond hair spilling over his large body, Robert almost resembled Thor. This was the nail in the coffin, and Loki swept to his feet suddenly. The glass fell from the arm of the chair, shattering on the floor and drenching the hem of his cloak with wine.

"Enough!" the god exclaimed to himself. He waved a black-nailed hand at the mirror, and the images swirled into nothingness. It was in the resultant silence and emptiness that he realized his body was trembling.

_I have been alone for far, far too long, _the God of Mischief realized. _There has been so much to do, so much plotting, and I . . . _

_I . . . _

Loki sighed, pacing. _Why am I allowing myself to be distracted by petty physical urges? I have won! My victory over Osborn is complete: he is ready to be forged into my personal knight in this recent chess game played across Midgard. He shall serve his purpose perfectly, and I shall be King of Asgard! I am at last on the verge of getting everything I have ever desired, ever __**deserved**__! It is all coming together beautifully, and when it does-_

Loki stopped pacing, turned to the mirror. It had been following his words, displaying scenes of his imagined victory: he, sitting on the throne of Odin, and all the kingdom bowing to him, _loving _him. Now, it showed the final victory he had been chasing for all these years, his deepest, darkest, most guarded wish.

The words that followed his train of thought were evident from the image in the mirror, and he could not stop the complete sentence from running through his mind.

_When it does, Thor will love me._

Loki waved a hand at the mirror, glowering. He sank back into his chair, his face twisted by anger and misery. It was a stupid, childish dream. It was a fool's wish. He knew all that, but there it was. There was no attention in all of Asgard that he longed for more than that of his adopted brother's. There was no one in any of the Nine Realms he wanted more than Asgard's true prince, Thor Odinson.

_Long, long have I loved him, and ever since, he has despised me. No, that isn't true . . . There was a time when he spoke well of me, when he loved me. It was not so strong a tether, but I could have strengthened it, in time, were it not for those poisonous companions of his! How they turned him against me at every chance they had! How they mocked and ridiculed me, especially that hateful she-wolf Sif! They are the ones that broke our bond. They are the ones that turned my brother and all of Asgard against me!_

_It is because of them that I am distracted by such juvenile desires and dreams. It is because of them that I am . . . alone._

Loki squeezed the bridge of his nose, thinking. These moods never boded well. He spent too much time alone, and at times that skewed his perception of reality, he knew. It was easy to confuse goals that might be achieved with goals one _wanted _to believe were achievable. He had made such mistakes countless times in the past, and paid the price very dearly. This plan of his, it was far too significant to be ruined by some rogue sexual fantasies. But what to do about his feelings of emptiness and dejection? These moods were not easily shaken, and could not be fought off or suppressed.

_Then I shall simply have to satiate it as best I can, _Loki thought resignedly. He sighed, throwing some enchanted objects into the fireplace. A green flame burst into being, and began to shape itself into a human figure. _This would have been much easier as a woman, but if I must, I can always shape-shift into one, I suppose. What a waste of energy and time! Oh well. Even the Gods are not immune to the lure of debauchery, and the need for companionship._

A voice spoke from the flames now, commanding and with a metallic resonance, "Trickster. For what reason do you yet again disturb Doom?"

The green firelight threw shadows over Loki's face, glittering in his cold, pale eyes. His mischievous smirk was on his face as he threw himself into this little distraction of a game. This was not exactly his dream companion, but he would still make for an enticing diversion.

03

Norman woke up, and spent a blissful few seconds thinking it had all been a nightmare. Then, he rolled onto his back, and the plush mattress dug like needles into his welted backside. Growling in pain, he turned back onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow.

A hand caressed his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"Do I _look _okay?" grumbled Osborn, his voice muffled by the pillow. "At my age- At _my _age! With all my power! And you, _you of all people, _turn me over and- I can't even say it."

"It wasn't- I mean, it wasn't _really _me."

"Of course it was you." Osborn lifted his face from the pillow to look squarely at Bob. "You _are _the-"

"No," Bob cut him off, surprisingly stern. "I'm **not**."

His grip tightened on Osborn's shoulder until Osborn thought he might crush it. The residue of fear left from last night's events made the man's mouth go dry.

"Okay, _okay_, maybe not," Norman said gently. He sighed, rubbing his head. "It's true that you're my loyal ally. You don't mind being my soldier, and it _is _the-_him-_-that does. It was likewise _him _wanting to take me off my high horse, I have no doubt about that. But, Bob-"

Bob eyed him warily. Norman propped himself up on his elbows, and reached out to caress the man's arm.

"Come on, Bob, do you really think a force like that would even _think _of doing something as-as human as-as-" he tripped over the word, grating his teeth against it. "-_spanking_ me."

A small smile drew the corners of Robert's mouth. Osborn was surprised, and again wondered if the divide between the two personalities was thinning. These small signs he was seeing were troubling.

"That had to come from you," Norman surmised.

"Okay, maybe . . . Yeah." Bob rubbed the back of his neck. "I mean, I don't know, you can be so-so . . . Hawkeye calls it full of-"

"I get it."

"You're very arrogant," Bob said with an apologetic smile. "And it's not very- I mean, I like you, a lot, but I sometimes think you're kind of, sort of-"

"A condescending, conceited, hateful prick?" Norman suggested with a weary sigh.

"Sort of. And they always say you're bad, you've been bad. Ms. Marvel joked that bad boys get spanked, and I thought- Well, it kind of stuck with . . . me," Bob said slowly. "Please don't be angry at me!"

Norman shook his head, sighing again. What could he expect? The simpleton still had that damned hero complex, after all; it was a miracle that he was even working with Norman's twisted version of the Avengers. Robert lay down on his side beside him, leaning his face on a hand. With his free hand, he traced the contours of his boss' face.

"The others weren't really like this."

Norman bristled at the mention of the 'real' Avengers. He hit Robert's hand away. "Well, maybe I should just send you out to them!"

Robert winced. "Please don't-"

"No, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that," Norman said quickly. He smiled weakly at the young-faced man. "I _didn't_ mean that."

He kissed Robert, and it was surprisingly a natural, sweet gesture. He realized that it was absolutely true: he really did want the man to stay here, to stay with him. Drawing back and staring into his eyes, Osborn looked sad. _I want him with me . . . even if in the end of it all, I end up having to kill him. Ah, my Golden Avenger . . . sweet, stupid man . . . _

Robert caught the look in Norman's eyes, mistook it for mere love. He kissed him again, and drew him into an embrace. They fell back in the kiss, and then Norman rested on his chest. Robert caressed his arm, and poked a little at his hair, which was sticking out in places.

"Don't do that."

"Sorry."

Osborn glanced up at him. "Well, here I am, taken down, taken over, taken in hand . . . taken however the fuck you want. So?"

Bob considered. Then, he said, "I like you like this."

The words were not encouraging. _Yes, I am definitely going to have to kill him._

"You're not being the boss or . . . anything," Robert told him softly. "You're just you, and that's . . . it's nice."

"It's weak."

"But you don't always have to be strong?"

_Yes, I do._

Bob lifted Norman's face up to his own by the chin. "I know you're the boss. You don't always have to work so hard to prove it to _me_."

"Maybe . . . Maybe." Norman slid off his chest, back onto the pillow. "Hmph. But some boss I am . . . I don't think I can even walk without that armor carrying me today, and it's going to be a mother getting into it."

Robert drew back the sheets to glimpse the bruises, and Norman saw his face express cringing sympathy. "That bad, is it?" he inquired. "Get me a mirror."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Get one."

"Okay."

Robert climbed down from the bed, bumbling around until Osborn directed him to get the small mirror in the adjacent bathroom. The man returned, sat back on the bed. He hesitated before showing Osborn the reflection of his backside.

Norman paled at the sight. His buttocks, down to his upper thighs, looked as if it had been beaten with a belt or a paddle- severely. The bruises were deep, deep purple, edged in green, and interspersed with raised welts.

"You did that . . . with . . . " Norman looked at Robert's hands. They were strong, large enough hands to be certain, but they looked so human that it was hard to believe they had caused such a beating alone. _And that was with maximum restraint, _Norman remembered, his eyes widening. _I could see how much he was holding back. My God . . . and all I have is-is that suit . . . I never should have talked to him without it. I should never be anywhere, __**anywhere, **__without it close at hand. Stupid. I'm so stupid._

Robert bowed his head, whispering, "I'm sorry."

He set down the mirror on the nightstand, and a silence fell between them. Norman felt that uneasy wave of vulnerability wash over him again, lying here still unclothed beneath that man. He drew the sheets back over his naked frame, but they felt thin and insubstantial.

_Only human. I'm only human . . . _

Osborn scowled darkly. _But so was Tony Stark. I bet no one ever spanked that spoiled brat. Of course, he didn't have stupid fuck-ups like Moonstone making idiot remarks, and retards like the Sentry believing them. Ooohh, she's going to __**pay **__for this. They're ALL going to-_

Robert interrupted his thoughts by kissing him.

"But I do love you, you know," he said softly. "Really."

_Oh, that is just so cute. He's acting like the classic abuser profile and doesn't even realize it. That is just priceless. And like the typical victim, let me say:_

"I know you do, Bob." Norman stroked his face. "Look, it's okay. I'm . . . fine now. Really."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." Norman forced himself to slide out of bed. He stumbled trying to stand on his own, and had to brace himself against the bed. His backside throbbed insistently, and his legs felt like jelly. Between the beating and the sex, all the recent problems he had been dealing with besides, the man was thoroughly drained. Still, he lifted his chin stubbornly, and repeated, "I'm fine."

Robert came down from the bed and helped him stand. Norman felt a part of himself dying inside, but he allowed the help. He had no choice but to, really. However, he shut the man out of the bathroom, even though Bob offered to help him shower.

Through the door, he told Robert to just join the other Avengers for the morning meeting. He heard the man leave, and then there was silence. He was gripping the edges of the sink, staring into the mirror. His eyes were green again. Perhaps he only imagined that they were. It didn't really matter. Not anymore.

Norman stayed staring for an amount of time that went beyond measure, as time tended to do when your mind was detached from reality. It may have been minutes, or an hour. There he stood, staring, staring, until he finally snapped out of it.

Though he felt empty inside, the man went about his daily routine. He felt slightly better once shaved and showered. Back in the bedroom, he was surprised to see that Robert had left him a suit on the bed. He glanced at the closet doors, the shattered glass surrounding them on the carpet. _How considerate_, he thought dryly.

He dressed. However, he had to lean on the bed several times to avoid falling over. He opened a line to Victoria Hand, told her to have the carpets in his room replaced that day, and mentioned he would be late to the morning meeting. Then, he headed, in an overly stiff, almost staggering fashion, to his intel chamber where the Iron Patriot armor was.

His arrival at the meeting was greeted with the usual statement of the obvious and suspicion.

"Boy, you really _were _late, Ozzy," Hawkeye remarked. Then he asked anyone who might answer, "Why is he in armor?"

"We're not going out now?" a languidly lazy Ms. Marvel asked with a yawn.

"I haven't had breakfast," Hawkeye protested the unconfirmed idea. "Why is Venom drooling?"

"Did you take your meds?" a worried Victoria Hand asked Venom.

"Usually take 'em with—mmmhmhm—breakfast."

It was a good thing the Iron Patriot's mask hid Norman's face, or they all would have seen just how worn and depressed their idiocy made him. He took a moment to seriously consider having them all killed and simply starting over.

"People, people. People!" He removed the helmet and slammed it on the desk. "Settle."

They quieted. Daken, their team's Wolverine, immediately snapped his attention to Norman. He sniffed once, then again. His eyes slid to the Sentry. Then, he sat back in his chair with a ponderous, amused expression. Norman noticed all this, but dared not ask what it was about. _What is he smelling? I showered. There can't be anything left on- I mean, right? I showered. I showered well. I always shower well._

Norman fought back the panic Daken's knowing eyes made him feel, and commenced the meeting. He was as assured and patronizing as ever, perhaps a bit more biting. The Sentry wandered over to his side somewhere during the talking, and stayed there. Norman did not mind. In fact, he always felt much more protected when Robert was at hand. It was a relief to see that the spanking had not changed that.

_My Sentry._

After the meeting was over, the team dispersed in the large room. Norman went to stare out the window. The Sentry went to fetch breakfast for himself and Norman. Victoria rushed Venom to get his meds. Ms. Marvel and Hawkeye lingered at the doorway talking. Daken came over to Norman, which Hawkeye watched out of the corner of his eye.

"I know I told you to get laid," the skulking man said, hands in his pockets casually, "but damn, the Sentry?"

Norman wished he had put his helmet on before this, so he wouldn't have to fight so hard to keep his face still and unaffected. He continued to stare out the windows at the expanse of city beneath them. "I have no idea what you mean by that statement."

"Oh come on, it's obvious. To me, anyway." Daken moved annoyingly close to Norman, inhaled through his nose. "I _smell _him on you. And I smelled you on him, too. That's not all."

Norman refused to look at him, remaining placid. His mind was seized with outrage and fury, however. He had never liked Wolverine's son Daken, and had come to completely despise him recently. He saw the mutant as an impudent punk that tried too hard to be what Wolverine was naturally. Lately, he regretted recruiting him more and more by the day.

Daken was like an animal when he sensed weaker emotions in others. It was a mistake on his part that he was not yet aware of: assuming weak emotions always led to weak actions. He crept close, until his lips were at the man's ear, his breath grazing his face.

"I smell fear and submission. You _stink _of it," he told Osborn with a cruel grin on his lips. He tweaked his unique biology to emit those pheromones that would arouse Osborn, further his sexual confusion. "Falling short on your dominance these days?"

Norman finally turned his face to Daken's. The man was a mutant, which meant that despite his appearance of being in his early twenties, he was easily older than Norman. Norman regarded him as a punk nonetheless.

"Not with you," Osborn hissed. "You're nothing but a goddamn animal, Daken, and I am a human being. No matter what happens between any of us, that will always stand true."

"Do you even know what's true anymore, Osborn?" Daken asked. "You don't even know which end is up or down."

Norman drew a breath and let it out through his nostrils, turning his face to the windows again.

"You're just an old, weak, mental human being. You think it would be worse to be an animal?" Daken persisted. "You think you're better than me? At least I'm not some confused-"

"Aren't you?" Norman asked, facing him fully.

Daken was caught a little off guard. He had not expected Norman to still be so unshakably cold.

"You think _I'm _confused? No, _oh_ no," Norman told him. "I know what I want, and I have it. Yes, even the Sentry, even submission, whatever! It is what _**I **_want, by _**my **_choice. Why do you think those stupid pheromones aren't working on me?"

Daken frowned.

"Because I _know _myself, I'm certain of what I want and don't want," Osborn said. "And despite my body telling me whatever the hell it's telling me about you, I know in my mind that I would never want to lay a gloved finger on you, you disgusting, dirty little animal."

Daken's eyes widened in shock. _No way. This old fool can't possibly-_

"But let's talk about confusion," Norman continued, taking sadistic pleasure in winning this little power play. He was grateful to Daken, an ego boost was just what he needed today. "What the hell do _you_ want, Daken? Do you even know?"

Daken's dark eyes fixed on him, and he scowled.

"Do you want to be your father? A hero? A villain? A killer? A mutant? Or what?" Norman asked. "Do you want to kill your father, or not? Do you want to replace him? Do you want to be better than him? Or worse?"

Daken shifted on his feet, looking away sullenly. Without the upper hand in an argument, he never fared very well. He was stinging too much over his mind games not working to think of another plan of attack.

"Your father always knows what he wants, and the bastard takes it no matter what the consequences," Norman said, going for the jugular. "He doesn't waste time with games and traps and planning. He just **does **things. And he wins. You think all your tricks make you more intelligent? Smoke and mirrors to hide how much _weaker _you are!"

Daken looked physically pained by the words. On the other side of the room, Hawkeye (sans Ms. Marvel by now) caught the look, and smirked.

"This isn't Japan, you're in the big leagues now," Norman said. "How easy it must have been for you to rebel in a country that is shocked by anything not sterilized into inoffensiveness! Well, people here aren't so easily horrified, in case you haven't noticed, and we aren't so easily impressed. But your father impresses us. Yes, even me, that was why I hired his offspring. It's a shame that by now, it's pretty clear you will _never _capture the same effect, that you will _never _measure up to his legacy. But how could you, when you don't even know if you want to?"

Daken stared at him for a long moment. He could see a battle lost, and accepted it. His nonchalant, subtle smile returned to his face, and he shrugged. One last shot, then. "Hmph. Much more confidence than I expected from the man trying to claim the legacy of Tony Stark."

"Stark is a non-issue," Norman said, though it took some effort to wave off the remark so casually. He had not been able to defeat Stark ultimately, and the man's name still burned him. "A useless, defamed vegetable. The builder of futures now has lost his own. I still, at least, have mine."

Daken crossed his arms.

"And I know what I want that future to be," Norman said firmly. "I suggest you start trying to have the same clarity of vision, Daken. And when you want something-" He glanced pointedly over at Hawkeye. "-instead of playing games and excusing your real intentions-" He looked coldly at Daken, eyes narrowed. "-you **take **it. That is, if you do really want to be like your father."

Daken glanced at Hawkeye, and he actually felt a surge of confusion. He was infuriated to feel the same petty doubts he usually instilled in others, and his hatred for Osborn deepened. However, since he could not kill him now, he was left to merely skulk away. His shoulders were more hunched this time, though, and his face was red.

Norman smirked, invigorated by the confrontation. Dominance and submission: everything came down to that old game, and he never tired of it. Those moments of loss were difficult, painful, yes, but they forced you to assess yourself honestly. The pain could drive you itself, if you knew how to face it, how to use it to strengthen you. Then when you won, well, those were the moments that made it all worthwhile.

On the way out of the room, Norman heard Hawkeye start bothering his nemesis.

"What did you do to get Osborn so pissed, eh? Tried to turn him on, be the boss' pet?" he taunted Daken. "Looked like he gave you quite the verbal spanking."

Daken could not resist the opening. He let his pheromones instill sexual desire in the man, turning to him with a little smirk. "Too bad it wasn't a physical one," he said, "you could have gotten off on it then."

Hawkeye chuckled, and for a moment, Daken worried that the Avengers had all become immune to his biological arousal somehow. Then, the man punched him across the face, and he was just happy to have gotten a violent reaction.

_Yes, _Norman thought as he watched them fight. _Dominance and submission. Reward and punishment. Win and loss. There is nothing beyond that. Everything else is delusion and excuse. We are all animals in that way._

Robert came in, having to step around Hawkeye, who had taken off his mask, revealing the target scarred into his forehead that marked him the villain Bullseye, and Daken. Daken was still on the floor from the punch, and Bullseye was kicking him. Robert put some bags of take-out breakfast on the table, but hesitated before sitting down. "Should I stop that?"

"No need, Robert." Norman stood. "That will do, Hawkeye."

Bullseye gave the mutant a last kick in the ribs. "At least I'm not the one that gets off on being beaten like a bitch," he spat down at him. "You really are a fucking dog, aren't you?"

Daken got to his feet, wiping blood from his nose and mouth. "Heh. Wouldn't you love to know?"

Bullseye slammed him against the wall, an arm beneath his throat. "Don't think I didn't notice that you didn't fight back. You never fight back, you sick shit"

Daken grinned, looking like a dog baring his teeth. "And ruin your-" He pressed up against the other man, felt the hard swell against his thigh. "-enjoyment?"

Bullseye's sadistic face was made almost childlike with confusion, and Daken's grin widened. Bullseye growled something incoherent, then shoved away from Daken. He stormed down the hall, and Daken had the feeling he was headed for Ms. Marvel.

_Pun intended, _Daken thought. He left the office laughing quietly to himself.

Robert and Norman had been eating breakfast while watching the entire scene. Norman chuckled, shaking his head. "For a moment there, I thought they were going to go at it right there. Damned if Bullseye wasn't about to kiss him."

"Why would he kiss him after they were righting?"

Norman gave Bob a dismayed look. _Either he's playing dumb really well, or the guy really is schizophrenic. How can he say that after . . . _

Bob shrugged, still apparently not understanding, and continued to eat his pancakes. Norman sighed. _Whatever. If he wants to play the "lost down the rabbit hole" card, let him. It's almost cute, and he certainly brings the maturity when he needs to (wants to?). Besides, we all have our . . . conflicts, don't we? Sometimes I think all we __**are **__are conflicts._

_I put together one hell of a team._

Norman sighed, sipping orange juice from his glass. _Well, who is perfect? No one is perfect. Even those pretenders that were here before us had their problems: big, Civil War-sized problems. They're a mixed bag of losers, but they are professionals, and if they aren't, they're __**forced **__to be. They're under control. They're under my control. And we get things done. That's all that counts._

Norman looked at his reflection in the windows, and thought of the Goblin. A smile overtook his lips. _And with you, we will accomplish more than ever. With your direction, I will elevate us all to new heights, heights even Tony Stark never dared dream of. This is only the beginning._

_I still have my future._

**Part One End**


End file.
